


"How to Communicate with Diplomacy, Tact and Credibility"

by Faoi_chielt



Category: Star Trek
Genre: Gen, Second-Hand Embarrassment, crackish, intervention fic, the crew loves jim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 13:06:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/913552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Faoi_chielt/pseuds/Faoi_chielt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“…Yes, we all know the Captain is no good at diplomatic missions,” Chekov said, still baffled. “It is a flaw. Sulu is no good at breakups yet I have not made a flowchart for him.”</p><p>“Dude,” Sulu said, deeply offended.</p><p>“I say nothing that is not proven truth.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	"How to Communicate with Diplomacy, Tact and Credibility"

Jim was sitting on his swank leather couch in his swank Captain’s quarters eating a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream covered in chocolate sauce—the good, breaky shell kind—and watching a romantic comedy. He shifted the tub on his lap, licked his spoon and glared at the holo projected onto the far wall.   
  
His life was complete bullshit.  
  
Starfleet’s youngest Captain and most recent hero burrowed deeper into his gold snuggie. He picked despondently at its Starfleet emblem over his chest.   
  
“I’m totally a people person!” he yelled at the holo. Unfortunately, the holo didn’t exactly stand up and agree with him.  
  
Jim ate some more fucking ice cream.  
  
…  
  
“So,” Chekov began tentatively, “we are here why?”  
  
“Because action must be taken,” Spock said. Those present shifted in their seats awkwardly.   
  
“Ah, I see,” said Chekov, clearly not seeing. Sulu patted his shoulder conciliatorily, prompting his friend’s expression to morph from confusion to alarm.  
  
“Why isn’t the Captain here?” McCoy asked with disapproval written clearly across his face. “This smells like mutiny,  _Spock_.”  
  
“Oh get over it already, McCoy,” Uhura rolled her eyes.   
  
McCoy opened his mouth, already scowling—  
  
“Alrighty then!” chirped Sulu, clapping his hands once loudly. “Let’s get down to business. The Captain isn’t present because, well.”  
  
“Because the issue at hand involves the Captain extensively,” Spock finished smoothly.  
  
“Extensively,” deadpanned McCoy. Uhura elbowed him and he glared in response.  
  
“Let the man talk,” she hissed.  
  
“Man?” he muttered sarcastically.  
  
She narrowed her eyes at McCoy, who raised his hands briefly in surrender.  
  
“Well, c’mon then. Spit it out,” he grumbled to Sulu.  
  
“Right. Due to the Captain’s recent diplomatic incident, Spock and I have taken the liberty of compiling data points for analysis,” Sulu promptly keyed up a spreadsheet using the ready room’s remote presenting device. “The flow chart we ended up with is pretty self-explanatory.”  
  
Silence reigned in the ready room.  
  
“Does that—“ Uhura began.  
  
“Title  _actually_  say Social Misdemeanors of Captain James T. Kirk,” McCoy gaped.  
  
“I do not understand,” said Chekov, plainly. “How is this self-explanatory?”  
  
Sulu sighed and gestured at Spock to take the floor.  
  
“We have determined that the Captain is,” Spock hesitated in an entirely uncharacteristic manner, clearly searching for the correct words, “lacking in certain areas of personal interaction. While more than adequate in the majority of his duties as captain, Kirk has demonstrated a decidedly unsettling propensity for failure in the arena of diplomacy. Lt. Sulu recently approached me with a theory and together we have created the chart you see here.”  
  
“…Yes, we all know the Captain is no good at diplomatic missions,” Chekov said, still baffled. “It is a flaw. Sulu is no good at breakups yet I have not made a flowchart for him.”  
  
“Dude,” Sulu said, deeply offended.  
  
“I say nothing that is not proven truth.”  
  
“Oh my fucking god,” exclaimed McCoy, “I can’t believe I’m spending my lunch hour in an emergency meeting with you lunatics.”  
  
“While I am well aware of Lt. Sulu’s ineptitude at the termination of personal contact, his failures in this area do not directly affect the well-being of the ship or its crew,” Spock replied without missing a beat. “The Captain’s failures at interpersonal communication do.”  
  
“Way to have a bro’s back,” muttered Sulu.  
  
“Ah,” said Chekov, understanding lighting his young face.  
  
Uhura nodded to herself, and then walked up towards the projected chart to examine it. She was silent for several minutes, during which the rest of those assembled waited with hushed expectancy. Finally, she spoke.   
  
“While you both have a point, I also have to agree with Chekov. It’s a flaw and one I don’t foresee Kirk leaving behind any time soon.”  
  
“Amen,” said McCoy loudly. “Jim’s social ineptitude is as much a part of him as his useless immune system. He’s allergic to good taste along with everything else, possibly including common sense.”  
  
Spock actually snorted in faint amusement at the doctor’s words and McCoy shrugged.  
  
“Facts are facts,” he said.  
  
“Indeed,” said Spock, “however, I think we can all agree upon reflection of the events of last week that action must be taken.”  
  
“We’ve developed a 12-step plan,” said Sulu brightly.  
  
“What does the first step involve, a lobotomy?” muttered McCoy.  
  
“I think Kirk is chipper enough without the help of any medical procedures, Doctor,” smirked Uhura.   
  
She and McCoy then began a heated and whispered conversation that was punctuated by somewhat vicious elbow jabs to each other’s short ribs. Meanwhile, Sulu and Spock were having a conversation of their own using nothing but minute shifts of their eyebrows. Chekov was becoming more concerned by the moment; he simply did not have time for this bullshit.  
  
“But what does this plan have to do with us?” asked Chekov. “I traded shifts for a week in order to have this evening free. I know it is unprofessional to mention during such a time, but… I have a date to prepare for.”  
  
“Oh, great,” McCoy said. “The teenager has a date to primp for. Let’s make this choppy.”  
  
Chekov glared at the doctor venomously.  
  
“The Captain is clearly not the only person on the ship who could use a 12-step program,” the navigator replied before his attention back to Spock. “Again, I ask, what does this plan have to do with us?”  
  
Spock looked at Sulu expectantly.  
  
“Well,” Sulu said, “we will all be giving lessons to the Captain.”  
  
“You’re shitting me, right?” said McCoy flatly.  
  
“He’s never going to take advice from any of us about this,” Uhura pointed out. “He doesn’t realize he’s socially retarded to begin with!”  
  
Sulu raised the index finger of his right hand.  
  
“Exactly. Which is why we’re going to draw straws for the privilege of having the heart-to-heart to convince him of the problem.”  
  
He pulled a fistful of spare console wires from absolutely nowhere and grinned brightly.  
  
“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” groaned McCoy.  
  
…  
  
Leonard cornered Jim in his quarters later that evening.  
  
“You pulled the short straw, didn’t you?” Jim smirked, raising one dark blond eyebrow at his best friend.  
  
“No, actually. Spock did,” Leonard rolled his eyes expressively. “I’m doing you a favor. _Again._  
  
Jim’s face twisted up at the thought of Spock approaching him for personal reasons.  
  
“Yeah, exactly,” said Leonard, not a little smugly.  
  
“Oh shut up,” Jim grinned. “So what exactly is this all about, Bones? I mean, I get it… you guys are worried about me after what happened on Risa last week, but I gotta say… I totally learned my lesson there. Wow.”  
  
Leonard shook his head slowly.  
  
“Jim, this isn’t the first time you’ve had this kind of problem, is it?”  
  
“With diplomatic missions, you mean?” Jim laughed and Leonard winced internally.  
  
“Yes, Jim,” he said. “With diplomatic missions.”  
  
“No,” Jim said slowly, incomprehension dulling his usually bright features. “But you know that. Hell, you mock me for it on a thrice-daily basis, so… what gives here, Bones?”  
  
“Jim, I’m not here as your friend right now,” Leonard gave in and winced openly at Jim’s shocked expression upon hearing those words. “I’m here as your doctor. And as your doctor, we need to talk about your interpersonal relationship issues.”  
  
He reached into the flap of his medical bag and pulled out a microchip. Without hesitation, he handed it to Jim who looked at him strangely before flicking the side switch to key up the holo. Immediately, a title hovered in the air between the two of them.  
  
 _These are the 12 steps as outlined in the book The Twelve Step Journal, by Claudette Wassil-Grimm, M.Ed.._  
  
“Oh my God,” Jim whispered in horror, dropping the chip to the floor with a faint clatter. The vid continued to shine its text brightly, albeit somewhat distorted because of the chip’s wild landing on its side.  
  
“Jim,” Leonard began in the same tone of voice he had used with the yearlings on his grandma’s farm as a boy. Gentle, calm and slow. “It’s just—“  
  
“It’s a fucking 12-step guide, Bones!” Jim practically shrieked at him.  
  
“You haven’t even opened it!”  
  
Jim turned with glacial slowness to stare at his best friend. He felt sick. Oh my God, this was so much more awful than the time his high school counselor made him read  The Hero Within. If Bones started to psychoanalyze him, Jim would trip balls all over the damn place.  
  
“Don’t be such an infant, Jim. I know it’s lame and all, but if you run through the steps we can gauge your progress in weekly sessions. This is just the—the required reading before the aptitude test, okay?”  
  
“Bones…” Jim said slowly.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Fuck off.”  
  
Jim turned on his heel and marched into the bathroom of his quarters with enough flounce to put any miffed cat to shame. It wasn’t often that Leonard McCoy felt the chilly side of Jim’s anger and frankly, it was disturbing. Normally his best friend’s temper reared up like a solar flare only to dissipate soon after, sometimes within minutes. He shifted on his feet uncomfortably, hesitant to press forward. The door of the bathroom slid shut with a decisive _thunk_  and wasn’t that just great.  
  
“Jim,” Leonard sighed, “I understand that this is difficult for you—“  
  
“ _Seriously_ , Bones?” Jim yelled through the door, his voice tinny from the transference. Sick fury was making his hands tremor. “You sound like a fucking B-movie romance ‘vid! What the hell, did the transporter glitch or something? I feel like I’ve fallen ass first into a Lifetime movie. You guys are giving me an  _intervention_.”  
  
Leonard could hear Jim pacing, his boot heels striking the hard floor of the bathroom in an intense staccato rhythm. He fought the urge to bang on the door and scream profanity; somehow, he managed to squelch the urge into something resembling a reasonable tone of voice.   
  
“You are completely overreacting to this, Jim!”  
  
There was utter silence from the other side of the bathroom door.  
  
Perhaps Leonard’s tone had been less reasonable than he had previously thought.  
  
“Jim?” he tried calling softly. There was no response. Leonard ground his teeth and gnawed the inside of his cheek. He really needed to stay calm. “Jim, this won’t be resolved if you hide in the goddamn bathroom. Don’t you want to clear the air? I  _know_  for a fact that the admiralty is breathing down your neck about this. Let us help you, Jim.”  
  
Silence. There was nothing left to do but wait for the stubborn ass to leave the bathroom, which could take days, knowing Jim. Leonard leaned against the door and prepared to settle in for the long haul.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, after much toe tapping and quiet bitching, Leonard threw his hands up in disgust. Thank God for mandatory duty shifts, otherwise he might not see Jim for the next week.  
  
“Have it your way then, you goddamned princess! See if I care when you get pulled back shoreside for a year of fucking  _sensitivity training_ ,” Leonard shot back to the accusatory silence of Jim’s quarters as he stormed out. He made it all the way to the medical bay before the gravity of the situation hit fully.   
  
What if Jim really was called back to the Academy?  
  
…  
  
The entire situation had quickly progressed from  _Kind of Ridiculous_  straight to  _Dear God, Why_. In fact, it had happened so fast that Jim was feeling a little seasick. How had things come to this already? He’d been captain of the Enterprise for barely a year and already his own crew thought he was a fuckup. This—  
  
Really fucking  _sucked_.  
  
Betrayal welled up in his gut, clawing its way to burn sickly up his esophagus where it lingered to choke him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and certainly couldn’t speak.   
  
Dealing with people had never been his forte, which was no secret. He tended to overcompensate for his lack of social skills by, well, being too much. Of what exactly he wasn’t sure. Maybe just too much in general.   
  
His mind drifted to recall the first person from his crew that he’d ever met. Uhura hadn’t exactly hated him when they first met. She’d been amused by him, annoyed by him and definitely unimpressed by him… but she hadn’t hated him until much later.   
  
 _Will you just go_  away  _already, farmboy?_  
  
Jim winced at the cacophony of memories, which floated to the surface of his mind unbidden and unwanted. There was a reason he stuck to one-night stands and casual relationships. It wasn’t that he was afraid of commitment; in fact, he  _craved_  it. That was part of the problem.  
  
Maybe he should just stop trying so hard.  
  
Jim straightened from his sprawl on the bathroom’s tiny countertop. If Starfleet wanted to recall him back to the Academy for more leadership training, then so be it. If he really was a failure then he’d fucking face it, own up to it and fix the problem.  
  
“God, I hate being a responsible adult,” he said, loudly, making a face into the mirror.  
  
His reflection made a face at him.  
  
Jim promptly flipped it off.

**Author's Note:**

> ... i totally forgot this ficlet existed. i totally want to finish it now, lol.
> 
> more on sulu!fail, from dommific:
> 
> Chekov: Have you tried simply talking to her about your issues?  
> Sulu: Everytime I try she talks about how wonderful we are together! No my only recourse at this point is the mariachi band playing "Love is a Losing Game."  
> Chekov: ...Of course it is.
> 
> Then three days later Sulu has a bonfire on the lawn in front of his dorm of things like mixtapes and his favorite band t-shirt that he let her sleep in, and randomly like Jim and Bones happened to pass this shit and Jim is all "Hey as much as you bitch about me none of my one-nighters light shit on fire" and Bones goes "Touche."


End file.
